


Animal Crackers

by archeolatry



Series: Shortfics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And because you know Cas would lose it at something really stupid, Because Misha is a goddamn ray of sunshine, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Future Fic, Gen, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, it's so fluffy I'm gonna die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: Pure Dean/Cas fluff. Enjoy.





	Animal Crackers

The sound came from the rec room. It sounded like Cas had been hit, or stabbed, or had in some way cried out suddenly before being squelched. Dean took the knife he was holding, as by instinct, and tore through the bunker, brandishing it, ready to strike.

It’s almost like a man couldn’t make a goddamn pie without something trying to kill them. Guilt licked at him for shooing Sam and Cas away--they were always underfoot when he was cooking. Cas couldn’t peel the apples fast enough and Sam could not for the life of him find the goddamn cinnamon in the cabinet even when it was under his stupid moosey nose. And now something was after them and it was all his fault. 

Dean arrived, panting, only to see Cas so overcome that he had fallen over onto the couch, bent up nearly double, convulsing quietly and clutching his sides. A low puff of air slipped out every few seconds.

Cas was laughing. Like, _really_ laughing, possibly harder than Dean had ever seen him laugh before. It was damn near startling in its humanness. 

He shot a look to Sam, who sat on the loveseat and seemed equally confused. **Explain NOW** , the look said.

Sam raised the remote towards the television--an old Marx Brothers movie on pause. His thumb dawdled over the DVR’s ‘back’ button for a second or two. Groucho stood by a piano, Margaret Dumont on one side. 

“One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas I don’t know.” 

Cas snorted. Actually _snorted_. Dean was so taken away by the sound that he remembered he was carrying a six-inch knife, which he lowered.

Sam shrugged. Dean only blinked his amazement.

Never mind that he had never seen Cas _truly_ laugh before; he stood in awe of the fact that the man before him had a brain full of the entire world’s literature, the body language of animals, and the name and position of every discovered and undiscovered star... and was done in by ‘in Alabama the Tuskaloosa’. 

Groucho chimed in: “But that’s entirely irrelephant to what I was talking about.”

Cas wheezed as if being tortured beyond capacity for words or gestures; like he was losing a tickle war from the inside.

“It’s... _irrelephant_...” Cas tittered. His eyes were only creases on his face, and his lips were drawn up into a gummy smile. 

Dean sighed the sigh of a man resigned; a man too in love to let something like sense get in the way of a smile that was pure fucking sunshine. He tucked the knife behind his back, and leaned over the couch to place a soft kiss on Cas’ temple. 

He shook his head, still grinning, all the way back to the kitchen. It almost hurt to leave, but the apples would turn brown and get mealy otherwise.

If Cas found that funny, he thought, he absolutely couldn’t wait to show him _Young Frankenstein_. And Dean would be sitting right next to him for every second of that. 

Dean went back to his baking, though a hummed little tune seemed to have followed him. _“Hooray for Captain Spaulding, the African explorer...”_


End file.
